


Broken Glass

by lea_ysaye



Series: No Reflexion [2]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Character Death, Crossover, Demons, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Twincest, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still in Alexandria Rick and Connor will have to hurry to come up with a plan to save Murphy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Connor looked down at his twin. Murphy lay very still in the half darkness, eyes closed, breathing without a sound. Connor knew he was not asleep, could feel Murphy’s mind, more dimly, muted somehow, but present, awake. Watchful, as ever. Connor had been gone only five minutes, making himself a cup of tea, trying to find something, anything, in the kitchen that might tempt Murphy to eat. Anything that might stay down.

He had given up when the nausea projected down their link became overwhelming, when Murphy had silently begged him to stop, and Connor had tasted bile at the back of his own throat, aware that his body was mirroring Murphy’s current state of affairs.

_Please don’t make me, Conn. Please…_

He could feel the desperation in the projected plea, sensed Murphy starting to struggle out of the sheets. Desperate to avoid returning to a Murphy yet again hunched over the toilet retching Connor had hastily given up the thought and had concentrated on his own cup of tea instead, and returned upstairs as soon as he’d finished it.

His brother looked so peaceful, that moment. Connor knew the impression to be deceptive, but he drank in the sight nonetheless. Pale and wan, hair mussed and untidy, longer and stragglier than ever in their shared memory. But always, always, Connor thought, Murphy was so beautiful.

Connor sat down slowly on the bed, close to his twin. He lifted a hand, traced his fingers over cheekbones too sharply defined, a throat too hollow, collarbones even more distinct now on his brother’s emaciated form than they were naturally anyway. Fragile as a bird and, Connor knew, now dangerously close to the point of no return from muscle wastage, organ failure and insanity. And yet, inexplicably beautiful. Connor pushed some still wet strands of hair off Murphy’s forehead.

*

When Murphy had woken earlier that afternoon he’d asked Connor to help him take a bath.

_I feel disgustingly sticky, and ‘m sore all over. Would be nice to stretch out in the tub…_

That the soreness was due to the muscle wastage and long inactivity, and that a bath would at most be a temporary relief Connor had kept to himself. He’d been glad to do something for Murphy, help him feel better. He’d hunted around the house for clean sheets, too. Murphy had now spent several days in bed, often sweating profusely from the fever that kept gripping him intermittently, and it would be wonderful for them both to sleep in a clean bed again.

Getting Murphy into the tub had been easier than Connor had feared. He was so light now Connor could have practically lifted him off the bed and carried him through to the bathroom. That hadn’t been quite necessary, but Murphy had leaned on him heavily enough to make Connor’s heart ache with sympathy again. Feeling his brother’s fragile body against him had brought tears to Connor’s eyes.

He’d hidden his face from Murphy but of course his brother had known exactly what he was feeling. A wispy, feather light tendril of thought had snuck into Connor’s head, and when he looked down into Murphy’s overly bright eyes he had seen the same tears there, ready to spill over. They hadn’t let that happen. Instead, Connor had pulled Murphy into a close embrace, holding him tightly while Murphy clung to him, shaking. Then Connor had helped his brother climb into the foamy water.

In times past Connor would have climbed into the tub with Murphy in an instant, and they would have forgotten the world around them for long, sweet minutes, giving each other pleasure, enjoying the smooth, unfamiliar sensation that water, foam and steam added to their lovemaking. This time Connor had desisted, and Murphy hadn’t even asked him to. Connor had wondered if his brother had realized how unlike them it was, to pass up an opportunity like this and to not even comment on it.

Instead Connor had helped Murphy wash himself, letting warm water run down his too narrow back, trying not to count every rib under skin that seemed too taut and paper thin. He had washed Murphy’s hair and had been forcefully reminded of their ma doing the same thing for them both, back in Ireland when they’d been small. How he and Murph had loved to splash about in the old, chipped claw-footed tub. Minds already linked together, as yet oblivious to the strange pleasures this would afford them once they discovered how to link their bodies just as intimately, they’d ganged up on ma in that tub, coordinating and intensifying their attack until all three of them were breathless, laughing and soaked to the skin.

Murphy had of course picked up on the memories, and when Connor came back round again and could see his face, his brother’s eyes were smiling with fondness, before suddenly clouding over.

“What is it, Murph? Something hurting?”

Connor’s nerves were taut, concern about Murphy’s condition never far from spilling over into panic. But Murphy had shaken his head.

_Just thinking… what d’you think happened to ma?_

Connor had looked away. The truth was that he had tried to avoid thinking about their family back in Ireland since this had started. Recently, that had been much easier. His entire focus was now in the present, trying desperately to keep Murphy alive, the one bit of family still left to him. He had sighed and locked his gaze with Murphy’s again.

“I don’t know, Murph. Who knows, maybe it’s not so bad over there…”

A single tear had spilled over then, rolling down Murphy’s face. Connor had sighed again stretching out a hand, cupping his brother’s face. He’d almost absently-mindedly wiped away the tear with his thumb. Murphy had leaned his face into the caress, closing his eyes. After a moment he’d pulled away, drawing up his knees. Connor had seen a shiver going through his twin. He’d stood up.

“I’ll get a towel. Don’t move til I’m back,” he’d admonished. “I don’t need you to fall out of the tub and crack your head open, on top of everything else.”

Under normal circumstances Murphy would have bristled at this sort of mollycoddling, but this time he’d not even opened his eyes.

_M’kay…_

When Connor had returned with the towel Murphy had still been sitting in the cooling water, arms wrapped around his legs, face resting against one knee, eyes still closed. Connor had felt a pang of sorrow, then longing, then guilt. Annoyed with himself for being unable to control this jumble of emotions his voice had sounded rougher than intended when he’d roused Murphy.

“C’mon then, back to bed.”

Murphy’s eyes had opened and he’d looked slightly hurt. _Alright, brother, keep your hair on…_

But when his eyes had met Connor’s his expression had softened. Leaning on Connor as he’d clambered out of the tub Murphy had flung his arms around him and held him as tightly as he could manage for a long moment. Connor had returned the embrace, not even minding his shirt getting soaked where Murphy was clinging on as tears had finally started rolling down his own face.

*

And here they were, back in bed. At Connor’s gentle touch Murphy’s eyes opened. He still looked tired, exhaustion a constant feature now, but Connor thought his brother’s gaze was more awake, more present than it had been in a while. Murphy brought a hand up and placed it over Connor’s where it rested against his cheek. Connor knew what Murphy had on his mind before he formulated the thought.

_Take me, brother._

Connor straightened up, drew back. “I don’t know, Murph…”

_Please, Conn. There’s so little left…_

Connor could feel the loneliness in Murphy, the echo-y feeling of a place far away, looming large for Murphy now, always. Not even he would be able to follow his brother there, once Murphy reached the point of no return. So Connor leaned in again, resumed caressing Murphy’s face. Murphy’s eyes closed, the grip on Connor’s mind intensifying at the same time. Murphy, pushing in, threading tendrils, curling up. Stretching out in Connor’s head, filling it, like he owned the place.

And with his brother came a cold, an emptiness, a feeling Connor didn’t remember ever experiencing before when Murphy linked up their minds. He felt suddenly afraid, but then pushed the feeling, and the fear, to one side, concentrating on his brother lying prone before him.

Murphy’s hands came up, seeking purchase on fabric, starting to undo buttons on Connor’s shirt. Slower, more fumbling, less sure than Connor remembered. When it became clear that just struggling with his shirt buttons was tiring Murphy out Connor stilled Murphy’s hands and pushed himself off the bed. He undid the rest of the buttons, shrugged out of the shirt and toed off his shoes. He undid his pants, let them drop down, pulled down his boxer shorts and stepped out of the puddle of clothes on the floor.

Murphy was watching, seemingly content to be allowed just to do that. The cold feeling in Connor’s mind intensified, and with it a growing disquiet in the pit of his stomach. This was wrong. Murphy wasn’t strong enough, they shouldn’t even be considering this. And yet, Connor knew his brother was right. What was there left for Murphy? What hope that they could fix whatever was wrong with him? The least he, Connor, could do for his brother now was make him feel good, feel wanted, loved.

Connor wasn’t very good at initiating their mind link, but he did his best now to let only the love and desire filter through to Murphy, blocking anxiety, fear, and the cold, empty feeling that threatened just off screen. And he seemed to be succeeding. A smile started in the depth of Murphy’s eyes, soon spreading over the rest of his face. He lifted his hand again and held it out to Connor, who stepped close, took Murphy’s hand and climbed back onto the bed, stretching out by his brother’s side.

Murphy propped himself up on one elbow and for a little while took over the initiative. He started gently kissing Connor’s face, then wandered down his neck, collarbones, on to his nipples. Connor moaned, then hissed as Murphy’s teeth found purchase. Down his twin went, licking a trail down Connor’s chest, past his navel, until soft fingers alighted on Connor’s belly. Murphy’s fingers were warm and familiar as they closed on Connor’s erection, and only then Connor realized just how aroused he already was. Murphy began to stroke him in long, languid movements. Connor moaned as Murphy scooted close, head coming back up and resting against Connor’s chest. With another pang of guilt Connor realized just how labored Murphy’s breathing was sounding, as if he’d just run up the stairs.

Connor pulled his brother close, held him, let him catch his breath. “Shh, brother, slow down. There’s no rush.”

Murphy’s hand continued stroking Connor, but more slowly still. Looking down Connor could see past Murphy’s still damp hair to his own cock in his brother’s hand, and the sight aroused him even more. He had to have Murph, now.

“Lie back down, ‘s your turn...”

Connor pushed Murphy back into the pillows and Murphy rolled onto his back without protest. After the bath Connor had helped Murphy into fresh underpants but they hadn’t yet bothered with a shirt. Connor let his hands glide down Murphy’s bare sides, raising gooseflesh on the too visible ribs as he went. As he straightened up and knelt behind his twin Connor pulled down Murphy’s boxer shorts, noting that his own arousal was equally matched by Murphy. He pulled the underwear all the way free and dropped it over the side of the bed.

For a moment, Connor regarded his brother’s naked form, and knew that Murphy was observing him in the same way from under half-closed lids. He felt a tug on his mind, familiar, welcome. This was pure Murphy now, fully awake, full of longing, desire, urging him on.

_Take me, take me now. I need you, dearthair… brother…_

Looking closely Connor saw a flush in Murphy’s face. He was looking less wan now, no longer pale or ill. This was his Murphy, panting with desire, writhing, longing for contact. Warm, alive under his hands. Eager for pleasure, eager to connect. And so was Connor.

Connor pushed up Murphy’s legs. Murphy shifted, affording access. Connor positioned himself as Murphy, eyes closed again, reached for his own cock. The sight of Murphy stroking himself made Connor’s erection twitch. He took his own cock with one hand, leaned down and positioned the tip against Murphy’s opening. His twin gave a half-whimper, half-moan and pushed down eagerly. Connor entered him slowly and Murphy’s back arched, hand on his erection moving with increased intensity.

There was no resistance, they were so familiar with each other that Murphy had no trouble taking Connor quickly, and without discomfort. But Connor was more gentle now, went more slowly, didn’t grip Murphy’s hips quite so hard as he started moving inside him. It was too easy now to hurt Murphy, to bruise him without meaning to. But despite it all Connor was glad that they could still relax into each other so completely, and that this familiar ritual gave his brother such pleasure.

It had been way too long since they’d last had an opportunity to be together, and arousal had built to an almost painful level over the last few weeks. Connor knew they both wouldn’t last long, and realized that that was a blessing in disguise. Murphy’s energy would not hold out for long, so he resisted the urge to draw out the pleasure too much. Connor made sure to hit Murphy’s sweet spot just right, not rushing his twin but fully concentrating on the other’s enjoyment. Soon he could feel the trembling and quivers of ecstasy that told him Murphy was close. Their mental link allowed Connor to push Murphy over the edge precisely at the moment of maximum arousal but before exhaustion would make it impossible for Murphy to enjoy the peak.

Murphy shuddered under him, arching right off the mattress. Connor closed his hand over Murphy’s on his cock and with a groan his twin came hot and fast over their intertwined fingers. Murphy tightening around him was enough to push Connor over, too.

*

Later, when they lay close together, spent, tired, but for once content, no pain in evidence, no weakness currently an issue, Connor could feel Murphy snuggling even closer against his bare chest. He tightened his arm around his twin.

“What is it, hmm?”

_Just thinking… ‘m so sorry, putting you through this…_

“No need, brother. You didn’t choose to have this happen to you. We’ll find something that’ll help, and soon. Rick will figure it out.”

Connor tried to sound more hopeful than he felt. After a pause Murphy sighed, and Connor could feel his warm breath against bare skin. _You’re right. He’ll know what to do. Rick’ll help…_

But Connor could tell from Murphy’s words in his mind, and through their shared emotional connection, that they both knew how unlikely that was, and how little time they had left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another crisis for Rick and Connor to struggle through.

“Where is he?”

“Bathroom.”

“What… Why’s he in there? I thought you wouldn’t force him to eat any more…”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what…”

“What is he puking up? Just the water he had, I imagine…”

“But… If he can’t keep down water either…”

“I know. Christ, Rick, don’t you think I know?!”

Connor slumped onto the disheveled bed, burying his hands in his hair, pulling hard. After a few seconds of exquisite pain he realized that he was mirroring Murphy’s stress reaction and dropped his hands, staring at his feet instead. He could feel Murphy’s discomfort like it was him kneeling on that bathroom floor. The agonizing cramps, his stomach twisting into painful knots. His throat burning from the bile, hurting anew with each convulsive retch.

“What happened? What’s changed?”

Rick’s voice was laced with worry and enough accusation for Connor to feel defensive. He was on the verge of answering back scathingly but then realized there was no point. And more importantly, they needed to pull together, now more than ever. So Connor just shook his head and sighed.

“I don’t know. He was asleep, as usual, and then…”

That was just it, nothing had been different. Connor was sure Murphy had been deeply asleep, oblivious to everything in his exhaustion. Connor had sat vigil in his usual spot, the overstuffed armchair that gave him a good vantage point to see the entire room. He’d almost been on the verge of nodding off himself when a sudden movement from the bed had shaken him out of his relaxed state. Murphy had been sitting bolt upright, already halfway free of the tangled sheets. Then he’d doubled up with a groan, and Connor could feel the pain down the line, radiating from Murphy’s stomach in a crippling wave.

Somehow Murphy had managed to get out of bed and had staggered toward the bathroom, Connor at his heels. As he dropped to his knees by the toilet, almost crumpling in on himself from lack of strength and overwhelmed with pain, Connor had made to crouch down by his side, but Murphy had shaken his head. Connor had felt his brother shut down much of their connection then, with difficulty, but determined.

_Leave me be._

Connor had known that Murphy had meant it. He could not tolerate him just then. So Connor had left him to it reluctantly and had closed the bathroom door almost all the way. Rick had arrived fifteen minutes later, summoned, presumably, by the same misery Connor was picking up. And here they were.

Connor glanced at Rick, who was now pacing the room. Back and forth, turn, back and forth again. It was beginning to grate on his nerves. He was about to say so when Rick spoke, head cocked as if listening to something only he could hear in his head.

“He’s not actually doing it to himself, is he? Not… physically? Finger down the throat and all that?”

Connor shook his head. “No. Something in him does it, he can’t stop it. But I don’t understand what it is, nor does he…”

Rick started pacing again. “Maybe we can put him on an IV…”

Connor didn’t even hesitate, he was grasping at straws. “Worth a try, I suppose. Hell, at this point anything is… Do you have any IV bags? And someone who actually knows how to set one up?”

“Maybe. We definitely have some bags. Let me…”

At that moment there came a thump from the bathroom, accompanied by agonizing static, delivered straight to Connor’s mind. Judging by Rick’s expression he was getting the same signal. Rick was first at the bathroom door, not as deeply interwoven with Murphy as Connor was, and hence less severely affected by the sensation that made Connor’s head feel like it was going to split in two. He was on his feet a moment later, blinking away sudden flashes of light, and followed Rick into the bathroom.

Murphy was lying prone, as expected, his body rigid, heels drumming on the tiles. The convulsions were severe enough to actually lift his diminished form off the floor every few seconds as his back arched, then relaxed somewhat, then arched again. Rick was on his knees by Murphy’s side in a flash while Connor remained rooted to the spot in the doorframe, paralyzed by the sight in front of him, the pain radiating down the line and the helplessness he felt. For a moment Connor was sure he’d start vomiting himself from the whole misery of it all.

“Don’t hold him too tight, Rick,” Connor heard someone say before realizing he had spoken those words himself. Rick nodded, clearly trying to decide where to hold on to Murphy at all without causing any more damage. As Connor watched pink foam started forming at his twin’s mouth and a strange, strangled sound emanated with every breath. Connor took two long strides to Murphy’s side and knelt down opposite Rick.

“Carol said to watch out he doesn’t choke. He’s bit his lip, or his tongue, I don’t know…” Connor heard his own voice without feeling anything. “Help me turn him on his side, he’s not getting enough air.”

It was all like in a dream. Connor and Rick turned Murphy onto his side carefully. He was totally rigid now, head pulled back at a painful angle. As they held on gently, a sudden, sharp pain was added to the agony Connor could feel radiating from his brother’s body. At the same time both men heard a faint but distinct snapping sound. Rick looked at Connor, horror written all over his face.

“Was that…?”

“The bone here just snapped, aye.” Connor glanced at Murphy’s left upper arm. “The seizure is so strong…” His voice trailed off. _Why is he not yet dead?_ was what his mind added of its own accord.

Connor later wondered about his curious detachment during those agonizing minutes. His mind was clear, except for the weird signal he could only describe as static coming from Murphy, and that didn’t seem to affect his thinking. It did however switch off all of Connor’s emotions, and any physical reactions to the second-hand pain, too. He could feel the pain, the stress radiating through Murphy’s body, even, it seemed, the strain of his twin’s heart as it struggled to deliver oxygen to his depleted muscles. But pain didn’t register as pain, or even discomfort. It simply all… just _was_. There to be endured, and all they could do was wait patiently for this, too, to pass.

And pass it did, albeit slowly. As it did, and Murphy slowly came back round, Connor’s detachment wavered, then disappeared. Pain was suddenly pain again, and seemed to double as the agony his brother found himself in upon regaining his sense of self emanated down the line. Connor groaned at the knife-like stabs from Murphy’s broken humerus as he tried to sit up. He was nearly incapacitated by the furious sensations assaulting his system, and was again almost certain that he would throw up as the nausea in Murphy surged.

“No, Murphy, stay still. Connor!” Rick’s voice was like a whiplash. “Don’t zone out on me now, I need your help. Keep him still just a minute longer, until he’s fully back with us. He can still hurt himself, flailing around in this state.”

Rick’s voice was a good anchor, and Connor concentrated on it as Rick started talking to Murphy quietly. His brother remained confused and unfocused for a long time. He kept trying to sit up, but was so uncoordinated and weak Connor knew Rick had good reason to want to keep Murphy lying still for now, even though they were all deeply uncomfortable. Connor kept a gentle grip on Murphy’s broken arm, trying to keep it still to minimize the pain.

Finally a shift, then a familiar seeking sensation in Connor’s mind told him that Murphy was back with them. He looked down at his brother and Murphy met his gaze, bone tired, full of pain and infinitely sad. But awake, and no longer confused. He was holding very still now.

“Hey, brother.”

A flutter-light touch on his mind, like a greeting, as welcome to Connor as a full-blown hug just now.

“You know where you are?”

A glance around the room, then a slow half-nod.

“You had another fit. You’re on the floor, in the bathroom. You…” Connor hesitated, shuddering at the enormity of the statement. “Your arm, it broke. That’s what’s hurting so much right now.”

Murphy’s eyes betrayed his fear. The fact that a seizure could have enough power to break bones seemed to frighten him. Connor started gently stroking Murphy’s face, feeling tears welling up in his own eyes, seeing them reflected in Murphy’s.

“’s ok, brother. It’s over now. Do you think you can bear getting back to your bed?”

Another hesitant nod. Connor glanced at Rick, who had watched the exchange silently and whose face held an odd expression.

“Let’s get him up. Real gentle, ok?”

Between them Murphy’s much diminished weight was like nothing. They easily got him off the floor and back to the bedroom, with only a brief pause, halfway, when the blasted familiar nausea spiked again and Murphy clung to Connor hard with the hand of his uninjured arm. Connor quickly looked down.

“Going to be sick?”

After a moment’s silent contemplation Murphy shook his head.

_Nothing left to come up._

The sick feeling slowly subsided and all that was left was weariness. Connor felt ready to lie down himself once they had Murphy horizontal again. Rick took the spot on the bed next to his brother, pulling up the blankets, making sure the broken arm was comfortable until they could see to it properly.

Murphy curled up under the blankets gratefully, while Connor sank into what he considered his chair. He didn’t mind relinquishing some of the responsibility for Murphy to Rick, and only briefly wondered when he had last been this trusting of anyone else, let alone a virtual stranger. He couldn’t remember, and it suddenly seemed unimportant.

Connor watched Rick smooth away some stray strands of hair from Murphy’s forehead where they were starting to cling. The fever seemed to be rising again. Connor mused idly what it was about his brother that made other people so gentle and careful with him, so protective. Murphy was a grown man, after all. Connor had no answer to the question, but he knew that it worked on him, too. That gesture he’d just seen from Rick he himself had performed hundreds of times or more. Still gazing down at Murphy Rick finally spoke.

“We’ll have to do something, Murph, and now. You need fluids, or you won’t even make it through the night. Not after that…” He gestured towards the bathroom. “And if you can’t keep anything down, we have to try something else. I want to try putting you on an intravenous drip. I can go and get Carol now. She can probably do it, or find out how it’s done.”

Murphy’s eyes flicked to Connor who returned his gaze steadily. “No choice, brother. We need more time, and this might just buy it for us.”

His brother’s eyes slid away from him, towards the darkened window. Connor knew just how afraid Murphy was. What would that destructive urge in him do if they tried this? Connor had wondered the same thing. But Murphy was no fool, he could feel in himself that they were out of options. He looked back at Rick, held the other man’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded.

“Good!” Rick sounded relieved, mostly, Connor thought, because there was finally something for him to organize. He felt a great deal closer to Rick after their experiences of the last hour. Their minds were surprisingly similar. He watched Rick lean down and kiss Murphy’s temple in a self-conscious gesture, then get up.

“Won’t be a moment,” he said to Connor and disappeared through the door.

Connor glanced at the bed. Murphy was regarding him with feverish, sleepy eyes. Connor got up and climbed onto the bed, stretching out next to his brother, leaned against the headboard and pulled Murphy carefully into his arms. Murphy came with a shaky sigh and sank into his chest. Connor could feel the fever heat building again, and he had a feeling that this was just the beginning. He had seen it in Murphy’s eyes, a knowledge, a suspicion, a question.

Was this really worth it? Shouldn’t they just let Murphy go in peace?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream.

Rick was dreaming. Exhausted as he was he’d not even bothered undressing, just toed off his shoes before he crashed, crashed hard. Murphy was taken care of, as far as that was possible. Lightly sedated for now, to prevent a mishap with the drip that Carol and Maggie had put in together (and boy, had that hurt; Rick had half wished that he could shut out Murphy, block the pain radiating down the line while the two women had tried to find a vein; instead he’d just held on as Murphy clung to him and Connor, breathing through it, shaking). Carol had also put a splint on the broken arm, which, even for Murphy, weirdly, seemed no more than an afterthought, the pain barely registering.

Instead of going home with Maggie once Murphy was connected to the IV and sleeping peacefully, Rick had staggered next door, to the bedroom he and Connor had gone to a few days ago. He’d only been half surprised when Connor had joined him after only a few minutes. Too tired to even worry about the peculiar situation he’d merely scooted over on the bed to make room for the other man. Connor had let himself drop onto the expensive-feeling mattress, rubbing his eyes and toeing off his own shoes.

“Carol’s with him. Kicked me out. Said to sleep, she didn’t need another patient.”

Rick turned over onto the other side. “Right. Do as she said then.”

Neither of them had had any problem with that, they were asleep in minutes. Rick knew where his dream was going before he saw him. Daryl came to him, into this room in a house that they had never been in together. He just stood there, looking at him calmly, until Rick got up and groped for his shoes. Then he noiselessly disappeared.

When Rick stepped through the front door onto the veranda Daryl was waiting for him. Rick couldn’t speak, he just looked at his man for a long moment.

Daryl looked the same as he had at the end. Not the very end, when things had gone so horribly wrong. He looked well, and calm. Way calmer than Rick had ever seen him within these walls while alive. Daryl met his gaze, and a fondness so true it made Rick’s heart ache was dancing in his eyes.

“I wish I could see you smile again, man.”

Rick frowned. What an odd thing to hear from Daryl.

“You never smiled, either.” Odder reply still.

“Maybe I should’ve. There was s’much to smile abou’. I jus’ never saw it…”

All the things Rick wanted to say were crowding in his throat, making speech impossible. Daryl stepped close then, really close, like he’d done so often, and just looked. Looked until Rick was sure he’d dissolve with the pain of these blue eyes on him, or catch fire from the longing that was coursing through his veins. Then Daryl leaned in even closer, let his eyes close, inhaled him. Unashamedly, instinctively, like only Daryl could. Like it was the most normal, most common thing to do. When his eyes opened again Rick could see his own reflection in them.

“D’you want t’fuck me, man?”

Rick frowned. “But how…”

“This ‘s you’dream. We can do whatever y’want.”

And they were in their bedroom, and it was daylight. Rick was disoriented for a moment, but then Daryl was crowding in, seeking his lips hungrily, pushing Rick against the back of the closed bedroom door. And Rick leaned back, let it happen. Then he reciprocated, then took the lead, pushing Daryl back, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. Daryl sank onto their bed with a sigh, like he’d missed being here, being with Rick, in their bed, just as much as Rick had. Rick looked down, looked into those deep, blue eyes that held him captured, seemed never to want to let him go again.

“Take me.”

The voice, dark, husky, smoky from too many cigarettes. Familiar, intimate, and it was as if they hadn’t been a day apart. Rick could feel himself getting hard, could feel the blood pulsing, wanting, needing, having his man with every heartbeat.

_Rick…_

And the voice was in his head, was Daryl, was Murphy, all at once. A caress, more intimate than Daryl’s strong fingers on his erection, rubbing through the fabric of his jeans, stroking, caressing, holding. Then the zipper, and the pants fell away. Rick felt Daryl’s hot mouth on his cock, expert fingers on his balls, and in his mind, those beautiful thoughts, this love, right inside his head. Rick leaned his head back with a groan, savoring the moment, making it last.

Then, reluctantly, a hand in Daryl’s hair, gently stilling all movement. “Lie back. I need you, now.”

And they were on the bed, entirely naked. Warm, familiar hands all over Rick. Those fingers, so deft and sure and experienced at killing, now deft and sure and gentle. No hesitation, no awkwardness, all that left behind long ago, dissipated before the end, now as if it had never been. There was just need, and it was all-encompassing. Daryl’s broad chest, pressing into him, his heartbeat, his breath ( _howcanthisbeyouaredead_ ), hitching now, as Rick’s hand closed around his erection. A groan, a gasp.

“Take me, now. I need to feel you. Don’t ever let go…”

Both mind and husky voice ( _familiarohsoclose_ ) with the same message, the same need. Something in Rick’s mind opened, like a door. He knew it was important, that something had been given, exchanged. But he pushed it aside, knew it would wait, be there later for a closer look, when his mind was clear, and not filled to the brim with his lover.

Daryl lay back, adjusted, prepared. Rick behind him, _socloseomg_ from just looking down at his man. Daryl was fully hard now, too, and as Rick entered him he took his own cock into his hand, started stroking himself, _soclosenowtoo_. Half-lidded eyes regarding Rick, then flicking away as his arousal built, then flicking back. Head cocked, then thrown back, panting, writhing, hand on his cock picking up speed. A moan, then Daryl biting his lip.

Rick could feel his lover tightening around him, knew he’d reached the peak, and let himself be carried over with him. Their mutual climax seemed to last forever, and through the linked minds Rick could feel more intimately than ever just how much pleasure he had always given his man, and let him know how much he, Rick, had always received in return.

And then Rick woke up. He could feel tears cooling on his face, his erection aching in his pants. A rustle next to him, then a hand ( _nottherightonenoneveragain_ ) coming to rest on his chest, gliding down, undoing buttons.

“Shh.”

Connor’s mouth was very close. His other hand wiped away tears, then caressed his face. Rick closed his eyes and gratefully gave himself over as Connor brought him to orgasm with a gentleness Rick would never have guessed he was capable of. While he lay there, still panting and slow to recover Connor moved close and rested his head on Rick’s shoulder.

“You dreamt of Daryl.”

Rick nodded, then realized how dark it was, and added, “Yes.”

His voice sounded thready to him, as if he’d not used it in days. Connor tightened his arms around him, and Rick leaned into the embrace.

“It was a good dream. But it was so sad…” He placed a hand on Connor’s back. “He told me, Conn. He showed me what to do, how to help Murphy.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are bleak. Is it too late to save Murphy?

“You asked me to come here to talk about Murphy, haven’t you?”

“How do you know?”

“And who told you about my brother? We’ve never met you before.”

Morgan looked at him with his calm eyes, and some of Connor’s nervous tension just seemed to drain away. He took a deep breath. Their situation was impossible enough, but Rick’s latest, and strangest, idea, and the hope it had kindled in Connor despite himself, just about made it all fucking unbearable. But this stranger, who Rick, guided by his dead lover’s ghost, said could help had an inexplicably calming effect that Connor couldn’t argue with.

“Murphy talks to me, Connor. He just reached out and connected. I don’t know how, this has never happened to me before. But he said Rick would soon send for me, and that he would ask for my help. Help to save your brother.”

“Do you think you can?”

Connor had had so many questions, but somehow none of them seemed important any longer, except this one. Morgan looked thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I understand exactly what I am asked to do, not yet. But Connor, Murphy doesn’t think I can help. He is sure that nothing can save him now.”

This didn’t surprise Connor in the least.

*

It was past noon. Rick had spent all morning speaking to people, preparing Morgan’s excursion, explaining what they knew, or suspected. Morgan had quickly assented to their plan. Despite Murphy’s bleak assessment of the situation he seemed to agree with Connor and Rick that they had to at least try and find the man who had tortured Murphy. Who was, by the looks of it, still torturing him now.

Connor half thought this was an insane idea, to send out someone who didn’t even know them to try and help. It should be him, Connor, or Rick out there looking. But Rick had insisted that Morgan had certain skills that would make it possible for him to track the madman, and quickly. It had to be quick now, they both knew. Murphy had a few days left, at best.

“Daryl was sure Morgan can save Murphy.”

Connor hadn’t had the heart to point out that Daryl had never met him or his brother because he had been dead for months. Instead he’d let Rick get on with the preparations on his own. He feared that if he stayed with Rick any longer he’d either start screaming or laughing hysterically, and he didn’t know which would be worse.

He climbed the stairs slowly. They had not gone back to sleep after Rick’s revelation, and he felt the effects of another almost sleepless night. Everything seemed to require double the effort today. The worry about Murphy, and the despair that threatened to overwhelm them both, was sapping his energy. Connor half wished he could stop eating himself and just lie down with his brother to wait for the end.

Connor had left Rick to talk to Morgan in their kitchen when he’d felt a slight shift in his mind that meant Murphy was waking up. There’d been a ripple of fear, and he’d sent out a soothing caress before starting up the stairs.

_Hang tight, I’m coming._

He was dreading how he’d find Murphy. Would the drip still connected to his arm bring on another crisis, fueled by that strange, self-destructive urge?

Connor opened the bedroom door and peered inside. Murphy was lying motionless, not looking round at the sound. He didn’t stir as Connor walked in and sat on the bed. Connor placed a hand against the side of Murphy’s neck. He sighed at the heat radiating off his brother again. That damn fever!

“Hey, brother. You ok?”

Murphy still wouldn’t move but Connor could feel a trembling shiver through him.

“This bothering you, huh?”

Connor fingered the IV tube connected to Murphy’s arm. Murphy nodded slightly. Connor felt a tug, a yaw opening in his mind. Suddenly, a nightmarish vision of a huge, faceless man, shouting and raging, yet entirely silent. Fear, overpowering. Pain, sharp and constant and worse than anything he could ever have imagined. His mind, body, on fire. Burning, breaking, torn apart.

Connor couldn’t move for several seconds. Finally, with an almighty effort he managed to pull away, just as Murphy came to life. He turned over, trying to reach across Connor, face beaded with sweat, all color drained away. It took Connor a split second to understand what Murphy was trying to do, and by that time it was too late.

Doubled over, Murphy retched and gagged. Bile splattered the sheets, tingeing the white fabric pink, spreading and soaking into the mattress. Connor could only stare in horror for a moment at his brother vomiting blood. Then he unfroze and unnecessarily groped for the basin on the floor. There was nothing left inside Murphy now, but he was still heaving.

_Take it out._

Connor knew what Murphy meant, but he still hesitated. “You need it, brother. And I don’t know how…”

_Do it. Now. Or I will…_

Murphy, struggling to control his battered body, stop the gagging, lifted his arm. Connor realized with a fresh wave of horror that Murphy had already scratched the skin all around the needle to shreds. There was fresh blood on his shirt, the sheets, everywhere. Connor groped blindly for Neosporin and band aids on the bedside table, then pulled the needle out without really thinking. Murphy was shaking so hard now Connor didn’t manage to affix a band aid to the puncture mark for a good minute. There was more blood all over them both and the soiled sheets before he was done.

Shaking hard himself now, Connor sat back. Murphy was finally calming down. Breath still ragged and shaky he turned away from the sick on the side of the bed and curled up on himself, facing away. Connor crawled round to the clean side, too, and tried to pull Murphy into his arms, but Murphy resisted.

_Not now, Conn._

Connor felt the nausea still surging through his brother, the pain, slicing like a knife through his battered insides. He knew Murphy was trying hard not to be sick again. He was afraid that next time it would really be blood that came up, and that it would not stop until Murphy’s body shut down for good.

Connor leaned against the headboard, looking down at Murphy but not touching. “That… vision. Was that him? The one Morgan is going to look for?”

He could feel the answer in his head and shuddered. That apparition had been the most awful thing Connor had seen in his life, and he’d really seen a lot. They both had. If that was what was in Murphy’s mind constantly, frightening him, causing him pain, no wonder Murphy couldn’t fight it. His brother caught that last thought and looked up.

_You have no idea._

That hurt. Connor looked into blue eyes, dark like moonlit lakes, fever-ravaged and sparkling with despair. He realized it was the truth, he _did_ have no idea. He could feel tears prickling behind his own eyelids.

_Oh Conn…_

Murphy’s gaze changed. Suddenly full of love his eyes looked softer, less dark for a moment. With an effort he struggled up, nuzzling close to Connor who pulled him into his arms. Murphy sighed, letting himself relax, seeking closeness now. Connor held him, clung on. He hated how diminished his brother’s body felt, how Murphy’s ribs dug into his side, his fever-burning skin seemed to parch them both. And yet, holding him, feeling his heart still beating, his breath against his neck, had to mean there was still hope.

And yet… As Connor held Murphy is seemed that with every second, every shallow inhalation, Murphy was getting weaker. Their mental link seemed feeble now, as if Murphy no longer had the strength to keep them properly connected. Connor buried his head in Murphy’s sweat-soaked hair and closed his eyes. They were almost out of time.

All around them the world was quiet, within, white noise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not quite going to plan.

Darkness was falling. Connor had let Murphy doze most of the afternoon away, holding him, a soothing hand on his back or face when the nightmares got too bad. A little while ago Murphy had woken more fully, less feverish and more alert, so Connor had taken the opportunity to change the soiled sheets. He’d propped Murphy up in the armchair with blankets and pillows, and he was just tucking in the last corners of the new sheets when the door opened.

“Everything all right?”

Connor straightened up. Rick looked as exhausted as he felt. “As all right as things can be right now.”

Rick looked at him with eyes full of sadness. Connor felt ashamed for the aggressive tone he kept using with Rick. None of this was Rick’s fault, far from it. He was trying his utmost to help them. Connor didn’t know any more what the matter was with him. He sighed, shook his head at himself.

“Sorry man. Long day…”

“Don’t worry about it. Want a hand?”

Connor stepped over to Murphy who had nodded off in the armchair.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He crouched down, looked at Murphy’s face, pale and gaunt. Even asleep there was a permanent crease across his brow now, and Connor could feel the constant pain lapping at his consciousness. He touched Murphy’s cheek lightly.

_Hey, brother._

Murphy’s eyes opened. They were still feverish, but lucid, and focused on Connor with tenderness. When he spotted Rick over Connor’s shoulder he gave a small smile.

“Back to bed, Murph. C’mere…”

Connor helped Murphy pull himself up. The feeling of despair at the lightness of his brother’s body as he leaned on him for the few steps over to the bed was awfully familiar now. Rick drew the blankets aside and helped Murphy lower himself onto the mattress. When Murphy was horizontal again, propped up on several pillows, Rick pulled the blanket over him and Murphy curled up on his side. He glanced at them both in turn and Connor could feel a grateful caress flitter against their minds.

Rick looked at him, and Connor realized that Murphy had linked them all together more completely than ever before. There was a question in Rick’s eyes, but after a moment he seemed to pick the answer from Connor’s mind. Rick sighed and rubbed his face.

“He couldn’t tolerate it, huh?”

Connor shook his head. “No.”

“Maybe the IV still bought him some time…” Rick didn’t sound very convinced.

Connor felt so tired he thought he could have fallen asleep standing up. He started unbuttoning his pants, stepped out of them and threw them over a chair. Then he went round to the other side of the bed and climbed in next to Murphy. His brother glanced at him, then at Rick.

Connor gestured to the other side of the bed. “I guess you’re staying.”

It wasn’t a question, and it hadn’t really been a request from Murphy. Rick looked down at them both.

“I guess I am.”

He started toeing off his shoes. Murphy pushed himself up and over to make room for Rick, and Connor pulled him close. Murphy buried his face against his neck for a moment, then raised his face and looked at Connor with gratitude.

_‘s ok, Murph. I know what it is you want. It’s the right thing to do, I just need some time._

Aloud Connor said. “Morgan’s left?”

Rick threw his pants on the same chair as Connor’s, switched off the ceiling light, came over to the bed and placed something on the bedside table.

“He went an hour ago. He’s got the other radio.” Rick pointed at the thing next to the bedside lamp. “But I suspect we won’t need them. Murphy will know where he is.”

“But how will Morgan know where to look?”

Rick propped himself onto his side next to Murphy and looked at Connor. “Ask your brother. I don’t know if he can explain it, but Morgan said Murphy’d help.”

Murphy turned over in Connor’s arms with some difficulty. Connor could feel him trembling with the effort of even this small exertion. He stroked his back and got a little caress of thanks back.

Rick looked down into Murphy’s eyes. Connor couldn’t see his brother’s face, but he could tell by the sadness in Rick’s expression that the other man knew how little time they had left. Rick’s hand came up and alighted on Murphy’s face.

“You don’t think Morgan can help, do you?”

Connor felt Murphy shake his head.

“Why not, though?” Rick sounded frustrated.

And Connor heard and saw, and felt it clear as day, the cruel face, the mad eyes. Smelled the blood, the excrement, the fear and sulphury stench of hell. He choked back tears and bile, tried to send comfort and strength down the line to Murphy, knowing he was failing to make any difference in his brother’s suffering. Connor didn’t even know he was going to say anything until the words were out.

“Because that devil will never give Murphy up alive.”

Connor saw the despair they all felt in Rick’s eyes, which were still trained on Murphy. Murphy’s hand came up, weak, uncoordinated, trying to brush away the tears that had started running down Rick’s face. Rick took Murphy’s hand, held it tight.

“Morgan will try, Murphy. We all will.”

Murphy sighed, shifted, nestled as close to Connor as he could, not letting go of Rick’s hand. He looked round at Connor, then at Rick again, then buried his face against Connor’s chest. Connor could tell Rick felt it, a tug, a link, a connection opening, binding them.

_What’re you doing, brother?_

_You and Rick, stay together. Don’t be alone, Connor. Don’t let Rick be lonely again._

*

_A dream. Darkness. Connor can hear, but not see. Footsteps, laughter. Cruel, humorless. Not joy in this world, just pain, despair. How does he know?_

_The footsteps recede. Cool breeze. A door? No. Tent. He is in a tent. Why can’t he see? Dread rises like bile. Why is he here, outside? Where is Murphy? What happened?_

_Fades to sleep._

_Nightmares. Daryl, weaving in and out. Rick can see his face, but cannot touch. It hurts, hurts so much. The longing, the love he still feels. The guilt. And the constant question. Why?_

_Why did you have to leave me? Why?_

_No answer, ever. Daryl looks so sad. Rick thinks he wants to speak, but can’t. He knows what his lover wants to say._

_Why did you let me die, Rick? Why?_

_Hell. He is in hell. Never-ending, agony stretching on behind him, and in front. Pain, so much pain. He didn’t know a person could be in so much pain and still live. Now he knows. And he knows it will never stop, not until he’s dead._

_But how? Why? Why is he doing this? Who is he?_

_Murphy doesn’t know. But he knows what to do now._

*

Connor woke up and just knew. He knew why he’d dreamt about a tent, knew what it all meant. He also knew that Rick knew, before the other man stirred.

“He has Morgan.”

Rick was out of bed before Connor had quite disentangled himself from Murphy. He looked down and his eyes met two huge pools of black in the half-darkness. Murphy was awake, but Connor had an eerie feeling that he was only half there with them. He seemed to be holding something back, waiting, though Connor couldn’t even fathom what for. He pushed against the barrier in his mind that had come up while they were asleep.

_Not yet… Conn, get ready…_

Of course. If Rick knew Murphy knew too. Connor got up, pulled on his pants and shoes and hurried after Rick. The other man was already on the stairs.

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m going after him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t, Connor.”

“Yes I will. Morgan risked his life for my brother. I’m not letting him die at the hand of that madman.”

Rick, who had been rummaging around in the kitchen, now turned to face Connor as he crossed the room.

“Your brother needs you here. I’ll handle it. This is on me, I sent Morgan out there. I am to blame for this, just like…”

“Rick, I saw your dream. We all saw each other’s dreams. I know you think Daryl’s death is your fault. I could waste my breath now and tell you a hundred times it wasn’t, but you wouldn’t listen anyway. It doesn’t matter, Rick. It doesn’t matter who made a mistake, whose fault this is. Morgan went out there to help, and now he can’t. I… _We_ have to go and do what he couldn’t…”

_Yes we do._

Connor spun round. Murphy was standing behind him, clutching hard at the very bottom of the staircase handrail, breathing ragged, complexion ashen.

“No.”

Connor was moving before he even knew he had meant to and got to Murphy just in time. He caught his brother as Murphy’s knees gave way, and he slumped against Connor hard, clutching at the front of his shirt. Rick was there in a flash and together they got Murphy onto the sofa. Connor tried to lift his feet up, make him comfortable, but Murphy pushed him away.

_I’m coming with you._

It was such a ludicrous notion Connor almost laughed. Rick sat down next to Murphy.

“Please, Murph, we don’t have time for this. Morgan is in danger…”

_I know that. I am coming. We can talk about this for an hour now and nothing’s going to change, other than us losing time. So let’s just skip that bit._

He looked at Rick so intently for a moment Connor thought he could feel the air around the two of them crackle. Eventually Rick looked away, and Connor thought he saw tears glistening in the other man’s eyes. Murphy then looked up at him.

_Conn, this is what we do. We get rid of the bad guys. I have to do this, you know that. Just help me get ready._

And Connor did know. Murphy clearly was in no condition to get rid of anyone, but what right did he have to deny his brother this, when it was Murphy who had suffered at that bastard’s hands for so long? If their roles had been reversed Connor would want to do the same.

So while Rick got them provisions, water, weapons and a car Connor retrieved Murphy’s clothes and shoes from their bedroom and helped him dress. He was dismayed at how loose Murphy’s pants were on him now. As he helped his brother button them he brushed against Murphy’s belly and Murphy flinched away. Connor looked up.

“What’s the matter, Murph? Something hurting again?”

Murphy shook his head, tried to smile. Connor didn’t like this at all, he could see the fresh pain reflected in Murphy’s eyes. But all he got when he tried to link their minds was a fluttery caress, then the barriers came down more forcefully.

_‘s nothing, Conn. Let’s go._

Rick had brought the car round to the house and now came back inside.

“Ready?”

Connor was about to get up from the sofa when Murphy reached for his arm. He looked round at his brother.

_Guns, Conn?_

Connor hesitated, then reached down to where he’d dropped one of their bags and opened it. He pulled out Murphy’s gun and handed it over. For once Connor couldn’t read Murphy’s face at all as his brother took the semi-automatic and stashed it inside his jacket.

Connor looked up at Rick. “This is a fucking terrible idea, I hope you know that.”

“I do indeed. You got a better one? If not, let’s just go.”

Connor sighed and got up. He helped Murphy to his feet, then gave him a moment to get used to the sensation of being upright and mobile. Even through all the layers of clothing he could feel the heat coming off Murphy. The hand that wasn’t clutching at Connor to keep upright went onto his middle right away. Connor was about to ask again, then decided against it. No use. Murphy was determined to come with them, and had decided he wasn’t going to share anything to do with this new discomfort, so Connor would just let him be.

They got out of the house and into the car somehow. When Connor helped Murphy climb into the cabin of the pickup truck he could tell his brother’s energy was as good as depleted. Murphy could hardly lift his feet and was shaking all over. Connor climbed in after him and had his arms full of Murphy before he had quite closed the passenger door. He could feel the fear lapping at his consciousness again. Murphy’s entire inner world seemed to be consumed with fear and pain now, and Connor could tell he was finding it harder and harder to keep it all bottled up, away from him and Rick.

Connor enfolded Murphy in his arms. He knew his brother was frightened of what was coming next, and Murphy seemed to know what that was, even if he and Rick didn’t. Rick looked over at them, and Connor could see in the other man’s eyes that Rick also knew Murphy was holding something back. He shrugged helplessly, and knew Rick understood that he was just as much in the dark about his twin’s plans.

One of the women from Rick’s group let them out of the gate, and Rick straightened up, eyes on the road, alert. Nobody spoke. Murphy knew where they were going, and that meant both he and Rick knew too. Connor looked down at Murphy, who was already nodding off again, unable to stay awake. He could feel the heat, the uneven breathing. His brother shouldn’t be out here, he should be in bed. Hell, he should be in a hospital bed, pumped full with painkillers and medicine. But that was not the world they lived in now, and Connor would do better to learn to accept the facts.

He had a feeling that whatever they did or didn’t do now would make no difference. Connor could sense that something had changed in his brother, shifted away. All he could hope for now was that whatever was going to happen would be quick, and that Murphy got to do whatever he’d been so desperate to come out here to do.

The sun came up straight ahead of them, and Connor didn’t care to think about what the world would be like when it set again behind them that night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

The drive seemed endless. Murphy tried to sleep through it, curled up into Connor, eyes shut tight, hiding how much he was hurting now. His time was running out, and fast. The discomfort from his stomach was now much more like agony, hot, sharp, expanding. Every breath sent a fresh wave of pain and nausea coursing through his system. He willed himself not to shift around too much, not to throw up. He couldn't control the shivers, though. 

His broken arm, not much more than an afterthought before, on fire now. He could ignore all this, if he had to. What he couldn’t shut out so easily was what was going on inside his head.

His mind was hell. How he kept the cacophony of screams, rage and nightmares mostly locked away from Connor he didn't know. His brother seemed to know, sometimes, that something was going on, but he was no longer prying. Murphy knew this was too much for his twin, too, and doubled his effort to keep the monster that had taken over his mind tightly locked away. Murphy could feel Connor's arms around himself, holding on more and more tightly, until it started to hurt. They both needed this to end, and soon. 

*

He could feel the fear from the brothers. Fear so all-consuming it was drowning out everything else. Connor’s mind screaming with it, rattling Rick to his core. Murphy much more subdued, weaker and weaker by the minute but also, Rick thought, shutting himself off deliberately. If that was supposed to help him and Connor deal better Murphy was wasting energy he couldn’t afford to waste. All Murphy’s locking them out meant was that their good-byes were even more drawn out, more unbearable.

“We’re nearly there.”

Rick flinched at the sound. They hadn’t spoken in so long. Connor’s voice sounded hoarse, like he was forcing the words out past the fear. The afternoon was wearing on, the sun would soon start to disappear behind the trees. They were a long way from home.

As expected they had needed no deliberation about where to go. Rick had simply followed the insidious, poisonous thread connecting Murphy, and thus them all, to the dark man. Now, almost in a trance, Rick turned off the country road, down a dark, overgrown path. When they reached the edge of a clearing he stopped the pick-up. A strange tugging sensation neither of them had really been conscious of stopped suddenly. Rick killed the engine.

“I guess that’s it.”

Rick’s voice sounded alien to himself. He looked at Connor whose face was pale in the gloomy light under the trees. Connor’s eyes, huge and shining with tiredness and pain, looked back at him, and Rick saw a single tear spill over and roll down his cheek. Rick reached up without thinking and wiped it away. Connor’s eyes closed for a moment and he dropped his head with a sigh.

Then Murphy stirred. His head came off Connor’s shoulder and he pushed himself up into an upright position with some difficulty. He looked first at Connor, then at Rick. It was hard to make out his expression. His pupils were huge, his face even whiter than Connor’s except for a high color in his cheeks. He seemed to struggle focusing his gaze on anything, and Rick thought his lips looked slightly blue.

Then Murphy’s hand came up and he pressed it on his stomach. He closed his eyes again, shuddered. He bit down on his lower lip hard and Rick could feel, sense, taste the nausea welling up in him, could taste bile at the back of his own throat. Taste blood, coppery and hot and sickening. Rick almost gagged.

Murphy’s eyes flew open, and the shutters came down again, locked Rick out. Connor was looking at them both with alarm. Rick had an inkling that Murphy had shut out his brother so completely that Connor could no longer feel what was going on inside his twin’s mind.

“Murph…”

A flutter Rick could feel, but directed at Connor. Soothing, stroking, but oh so weak now.

_S’ok. Help me, will you?_

Murphy back in control, fighting, struggling but for now succeeding in bringing them along in his plans.

Connor started fumbling with the passenger door and Rick hurried to help. He was already half out of the cabin and quickly went round to the other side. He got there just in time to prevent Murphy falling out of the door face first. As he caught the fragile twin in his arms a stab of sharp pain shot down the line before Murphy could prevent it. Rick shuddered, almost lost his grip on the other man. He looked down in horror at Murphy, whose eyes, hardly human now, stared back.

_Don’t, Rick. Just help me finish this. Please?_

Connor was climbing out of the pick-up behind his brother, but suddenly froze. Rick looked behind himself. He’d been so intent on Murphy he’d not even noticed that they weren’t alone. A shadowy figure was just discernible under the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, approaching now, leading a second person. That was Morgan, Rick realized after a moment. The two figures stopped about twenty yards away. The dark man raised a hand and pointed.

Darkness flooded Rick’s mind, consumed him. He staggered, but then the heavy, oppressive force lifted. He looked down at Murphy in his arms, could see the darkness reflected in his eyes, could tell that Murphy had pulled it all, every last bit of the evilness, into his own mind.

“No, Murph…”

A flutter, a caress. _It doesn’t matter now. It’s almost over. Don’t cry, Rick, not now. Be strong, for me…_

Connor took a step toward them, but then stopped dead. The darkness spoke, in all their heads.

_Not Connor. Rick, you bring Murphy to me. Leave your weapon. Connor, stay away._

Rick could feel Connor seething, fighting the urge to just sprint across the clearing and rip this demon apart with his bare hands. If Rick hadn’t been holding Murphy up, linked now so completely with the dying brother, he might have done the same. Instead he reached over and touched Connor lightly on the arm with his free hand. Rick hadn’t even known he was capable of it until he reached out with his mind as well, soothing, caressing.

_I got it, Conn. Stay calm._

Their eyes locked. Rick reached behind himself and pulled the Python from his waistband. He held it out to Connor who was looking daggers at him now. Then Connor’s eyes shifted to Murphy, and Rick could see them cloud over with fear again. He felt the caress, the total link as Murphy reached out, dropped all barriers. Connected, sent across a love so complete Rick could feel his soul vibrate with it.

_Brother,_ _dearthair… Please…_

And Connor lowered his eyes, took the weapon from Rick, turned away.

Rick could feel Murphy tremble against him, heard him sob once, exhale with a shudder. Then, with an almighty effort he straightened up and turned towards the dark figure.

_Let’s go, Rick. ‘M ready…_

He gripped Rick’s arm hard and took a step, stumbled. Rick held him more firmly, heard a hiss of pain. The heat emanating from Murphy seemed to double and Rick had no idea how he could still be upright, lucid, breathing, at all. He hardly seemed to be now, each breath sounding more shallow, more rattly. Darkness descended on their interlinked minds, emanating from the man across from them, but also, it seemed, from Murphy. Rick tried to shut it out, focus on the task ahead, block Murphy like the twin had been blocking him.

Rick was painfully aware of Connor behind them, the feeling of powerlessness radiating across. Connor was struggling against the instinct that had helped the brothers survive until now. The urge to want to be the one who supported, protected, propped up Murphy was overwhelming, and Rick felt his affection for Connor like a stab to the heart. He knew how impossible it was for Connor to let go. He was still railing against the same reality, had not even begun to learn to let go of Daryl. He didn’t think he would ever be able to.

How would Connor be able to go on without his brother, when they’d been practically joined at the hip since birth? Rick didn’t know.

Murphy was trying to walk on now. Rick thought he would be urging him on if he’d had any strength left at all. Impatient, or merely desperate for it all to end. Rick found he could not look at the dark man in front of them. He seemed fuzzy, undefined, and Rick’s eyes slid sideways every time he tried to really look.

Rick moved them on then, guiding Murphy gently over the uneven ground, almost carrying him now. He could feel the frail body through the layers of much too large clothing, fragile like a bird. And yet, Rick could still discern the similarities to the man he’d loved more than his life.

The thought of Daryl, and the hole his death had ripped through the fabric of his life, descended like a dark, choking blanket. And with the thoughts of Daryl’s death came the dark man, forced himself once again into Rick’s mind.

Consumed with misery and longing, and the horror of what was hovering at the periphery of his vision, Rick was only vaguely aware of what happened next. Of Murphy, the hand that wasn’t pressed against his middle reaching into his jacket. Of Murphy, pulling away, staggering, regaining balance.

It all happened so fast, but Rick felt like he was stuck in a time loop, not exactly slowing him down but just repeating, over and over, the next few seconds. Groundhog day.

Murphy taking several quick, unsteady steps.

The semi, glinting in his hand.

A blinding flash, a bang Rick didn’t hear. Repeated over and over again.

A stab of pain in the base of the brain, directed at the dark man.

The shadow, black as night, expanding across the clearing.

Black wings, thrown impossibly wide, casting the whole clearing into shadow.

Morgan, diving to the ground, cowering.

Roaring, rushing.

A scream.

Then heat, impossible and searing.

A bang, a flash, and a black demon exploding into tiny, ragged pieces.

The first thing that made sense to Rick again was Connor rushing past him, yelling. He stopped next to Murphy, ten yards away, crumpled on the leafy ground. Rick looked on as Connor, now sobbing, dropped down next to his brother just as Murphy stirred, gagged, leaned over to the side.

Frozen in horror Rick could only watch as Murphy vomited a dark red stream of blood. Connor caught his twin in his arms just as Murphy’s strength left him and he slumped into a heap again. The heaving and retching wouldn’t stop. Every time Murphy tried to draw breath a fresh wave of crimson, old blood mingled with new, forced its way up.

“No. Murph… No. No. No!”

Connor cradling his brother, blood spattering them both, running through Connor’s fingers, staining their clothes, soaking into the ground. Murphy’s face white as chalk, drawn into a grimace of pain and fear. His nose was bleeding now, and the tears running down his face were red. Rick took several steps until he was only feet from the brothers.

As Murphy’s eyes met his Rick could feel a last flutter of affection, one last caress.

_Rick… don’t let him despair. Keep him. Save my brother… I’m sorry, so sorry…_

And suddenly, with a rush that made his heart skip several beats, Rick understood.

Understood that it had been Murphy who had sent him the dreams about Daryl. That he’d done it to force Rick’s hand, get them all to this place. Rick saw just how much Murphy had suffered, how he’d realized this would never stop until he was dead. Feeling the end nearing, he’d done the only thing he could think of.

And then the realization hit. Murphy had known what the dark man had been, had finally understood how the demon was using him as a portal. How he had planned to move on from Murphy, to Connor, to Rick, to all of Alexandria.

Murphy had resisted, held out, never let the demon possess him completely. The monster had responded with fury, shredding him slowly from the inside, weakening him with the constant vomiting, the fevers, finally the destruction of his internal organs. Had Murphy died while the demon still existed he could have moved on to the people closest to Murphy, breed on grief, multiply, conquer.

Murphy’s capture, the mental torture, the children killed before his eyes, had been but the first step, preparing the ground, cultivating a vessel to use for getting into the world. Connor had snatched Murphy back before that process was complete, so Murphy had been able to resist the incomplete process. Too much of Murphy, mind and soul, had still been alive; he had been able to fight back. Now, he was spent. But he had managed his ultimate goal, had taken the beast with him. Connor, Rick, the Alexandrians, everyone was safe.

The broadcast finished, Murphy’s eyes rolled back in his head. The retching stopped, he slumped in Connor’s arms, nothing now but an empty shell.

Rick’s legs gave way then. He crumpled, not caring to stop himself from hitting the ground hard. Horror too great to think, to breathe. Pain too momentous to feel, see, hear anything. Emptiness within, echoing.

Suddenly, Morgan was there. A hand on Rick’s shoulder, he looked up into calm eyes. Pain and sadness there too, but also an urging. Morgan inclined his head.

“Connor…” Rick’s voice, broken, raw in his throat. “Conn…”

Blue eyes in his, uncomprehending, blank.

Rick reached out, grasped Connor’s hands with his, held fast, gaze unblinking. Moved closer, until they were both holding Murphy. Together, they sat. Held on, felt Murphy’s slight weight between them, his still form against their bodies. Committing him, brother, lover, friend, what he had been, what he was now, to memory.

Never again to see those blue eyes open, that gentle, impish smile Rick only knew from Connor’s memory. Never again to stroke the strands of hair off Daryl’s face, see his lover’s gaze soften, focus on him and him alone, shut out the world to be with him, and him only. Rick shared that memory with Connor, saw the other’s eyes fill with tears.

Forever, in their minds, Murphy and Daryl intertwined. Love, life, gentleness in this cruel world. Completeness gone, replaced with two odd pieces that would never find that perfect fit, but had no choice but to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really sorry, y'all!


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of me attending the workshop on POVs in fanfic at Nine Worlds (awesome event!). I had written the epilogue already, but the workshop inspired me to try something new, so this is Connor's POV, 1st person. I think it works quite well... It somehow makes it slightly less of a sad ending than it would have been otherwise.

I hold him gently, I’m so used to that now. Might hurt him otherwise… I keep forgetting he’s past that. His face is so peaceful, but so pale. Not like Murph at all, being so white, or so still. Makes me skin crawl.

He was never still, me brother. He’d exhaust us all with his fidgeting. He’d scoot close, nuzzle against me, link his mind, then be off again. Even when we were wee, he’d do it just to annoy me. Now there’s nothing there, I can’t feel a thing. I wanna tell him it’s ok, he can stop playing games, I’m not mad. Then I remember. I’m alone. All alone in me head, for the first time ever.

To tell the truth, I’m still numb, but it’s wearing off. Like when you go to the dentist, and after a few hours you can start to feel it, that pain, just how much damage has been done. Maybe I’m going mad, thinking of dentists. There are no dentists now, no fucking doctors neither. Nobody to save us. Nothing.

Right about now he’d tell me not to be silly, to calm it, to settle the fuck down already. Now I’ll have to find that on me own. But I’m not alone, not entirely.

Rick’s there, he’s right here, actually, driving the pick-up truck. He helped me lift Murphy in. I almost fell over, but Rick had me, had us both. I didn’t want him to at first, but now I’m kinda glad he’s there, here with me. And kinda in my head too, only not constantly, not yet. We gotta work on that…

I look at him but he’s concentrating on the road. I know he’s almost in a worse state than me. That whole thing with Daryl, and what Murphy did with that memory of Rick’s… heavy shit. I know he knows why Murphy did it, but it’ll take a while to percolate through that mind of his. Maybe he should be concentrating on the road a bit more, but then, what does it really matter if we crash now? At least then I could be with Murphy again. We’d have peace.

Murphy does look peaceful, more peaceful than in a long time, and I don’t begrudge him that. He deserves for this to be over, not be in so much pain all the fucking time. I touch his face automatically, push back some strands of hair. Soon I won’t be able to do that any more. Weird thought.

We’re taking Murphy to where Daryl’s buried. I don’t really mind where we’re putting him, but it sort of makes sense. And Rick finds it important for some reason, so why not?

The sun is setting again, right ahead. I just want this drive to be over now. The cabin stinks of blood, and too many bodies crammed in together. I want to be alone for a bit, really alone. Gotta figure out if I can be that, alone. Or be without Murph, rather. Can’t move on to anything else until I know what that’s like, just being me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone! I loved and hated writing this one, it was so sad. It was sort of clear for a long time where it was headed, and I do apologise that it's so bleak. Hope it's sad in a good way?


End file.
